


The Heater is Broken

by CrimsonFrostbite



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: A lot of kissing, Angst, Jinwoo the mysterious man, M/M, Minho the DJ who is madly in love, Smut, quite fluffy i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 00:45:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9296813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonFrostbite/pseuds/CrimsonFrostbite
Summary: They were merely two people living under the same roof, eating at the same table, sleeping in the same bed, fucking each other for fun... Except, Minho found it the happiest time in his life.





	1. Prologue

Minho grabs the jacket on the couch, rushes out of his apartment. He doesn't know what to expect from the call of police. It is an asomatous fear that he could not name. No word could depict it. Sometimes he calls it Kim Jinwoo, but it does not feel right. There is absolutely nothing about Jinwoo to be afraid. What actually scares Minho is losing him, losing a part of his life that until now, when he tells himself he is ready to face the harshest reality, no matter how cruel it is, he still can't brush off the feeling of his heart being ripped out of chest.

They confirmed the cause of the death is drowning. A suicide, they said. 

Minho imagines a gruesome scene in which he enters a cold, white room with a giant bag placed on a metal bed. His nose is filled with the distinctively sour smell of iodoform and the faint stink of dead germs. Even before the bag is opened, Minho has thrown up and fainted.

The room is not white, though, still bright, but warmly bright, more like an office. The identifying process is done by photo, and that's it. No disturbance, no smell, no sickening visual, nothing. They give him a photo, face down of course, and wait. Wait for the time he needs, wait for his world to stop turning upside down.

But it doesn’t. So he turns the photo over anyway.

At that moment, his breath hitches, stomach flips, something climbs up his throat, hands are uncontrollably shaking. He never liked scary films, Jinwoo does. They used to watch The Grudge together on the old couch in his apartment. The couch was kind of red, felt like velvet, but cheap. It was his favorite place where Jinwoo got immersed into the scenes while he hid behind the older, clung to him like he ought to; otherwise, the ghost would catch him. 

A full minute panicking, Minho finally regains his composure, hastening to wipe the tears about to burst out of the corner of his eye. Jinwoo used to be the one doing so whenever Minho cried. But this time, he does not cry - at least, he pretends that he doesn't - lest Jinwoo's presence is in need.

“No, he's not. He's not Jinwoo,” Minho looks up to the counselor, his voice is cold and distant, “it's not him.” 

Seungyoon arrives a few minutes later. The anxiety on his face fades away immediately just by Minho shaking his head. Minho notices the latter loosed his shoulders a bit, so he pats his back, offers the brightest smile he can fake. He knows how Seungyoon feels because he feels exactly the same, relieved and disappointed simultaneously.

A strange emotion tangles up in his chest. It hurts, he assumes. Thinking about Jinwoo is always painful.

  
Maybe, he should just give up.


	2. one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Minho certainly knew it was not another hallucination.

The constant knocks on the front door pounded his heart heavily; an uneasy feeling ran all over his body. It had to be Jinwoo. The one knocking his door at 3:30 in the morning could only be him, the man who always appeared in his daydreams. A tint of happiness bloomed in his body, or was it regret? Guilty? Or whatever; Minho could not care less.

Of course, it was Jinwoo, hiding his face in the familiar gray hoodie. Minho pulled off the hood, revealing a young man with long, disheveled hair, weary eyes, especially a scratch at the corner of his pale lips.

“What the fuck? You okay?” he squeezed Jinwoo’s shoulders, checking his body, face got darker and darker every time a bruise or a cut appeared in his sight. “Did that jerk hit you again?”

Jinwoo gave Minho the biggest smile ever, totally different from his miserable state.

“I'm fi-” Minho didn't give him a chance to finish his sentence, dragged him inside, slamming the door behind them. He was mad, so mad he could explode at any time, but Jinwoo kept smiling, looked extremely stupid; but it was Jinwoo, everything he did was endearing. Minho found his rage deeply buried in his sleepless love for the older man already. He could never stay angry at him for too long because of the imaginary galaxy in his eyes, those alluring lips which always lingered on Minho's mind, his vulnerable neck which Minho had been craving since the first day…

“Minho,” a soothing voice pulled him out of his fantasy. Right, staring at Jinwoo obviously wouldn't help cure his pains.

“Bathroom.” Jinwoo took off his hoodie swiftly, the unmistakable blood stains on his beige shirt nearly glowed under the latter's gaze. “It's not my blood, though.”

He sighed a relief. Jinwoo gave him a lazy smile when he handed him the key and some clothes. Such a temptation, he really wanted to escort him to the bathroom, all the way to the end of the hallway; it was necessary, following his steps to everywhere.

He didn't. No reason, he didn't.

Jinwoo was out of sight, but the cut on the older's face kept bugging him. A strange emotion got tangled up in his chest. It hurt, he assumed. Thinking about Jinwoo was always painful.

It was a cliché, falling in love with one of your college friends in a subtle way. Alright, maybe he was not that subtle. Back in college, in the night Minho had been drunk, not knowing how to seal his mouth, those butterflies had escaped, fragile and disconnected. However, the saddest part was none of them wanted to talk about it. Jinwoo was a secret keeper, and Minho was a coward. They had pretended to be normal the next morning like they had totally forgotten his sloppy confession as if nothing had ever happened. Gradually, that indistinct night began to fade away into his vivid dreams. Then Jinwoo had a boyfriend, he had nothing, and life went on.

Minho ended up lying on the floor, mentally exhausted.

Jinwoo was back, wearing one of Minho's low-cut tank tops and a pair of boxers (or nothing, Minho felt apprehensive, the gap between his thighs was tremendously glorious). Oh, Minho hated himself too much, picking those specific pieces of clothes in tons of other things. An intake of the older's smell stirred up his brain. Jinwoo was staying in his apartment, using his shampoo, wearing his clothes, but why did he not belong to him?

“Mino,” Jinwoo patted his stomach to bring him to his senses, “wanna drink?”

“Not today,” he avoided the latter's eyes, avoided a prospect.

“Why?”

“Don't feel like it.”

Jinwoo lay down, giving up asking, head rested on the younger’s tummy, eyes glued to the blank ceiling. Stealing a glance at him, Minho wished his stomach would stop flustering. It gave him a hard time to breathe (definitely not because of Jinwoo lying on his stomach), he blamed his body for being weak whenever the older was around.

_Please stop._

“Please stop getting back to that man,” he cleared his throat, trying to make it as much natural as he could before continuing, “lately you came here with bruises and blood. He doesn't deserve you... dude.”

Okay, he was caught off guard right there, the _dude_ didn’t sound natural at all, more like a mixture of desperation, jealousy, hopelessness, and whatever. He felt stupid, absolutely stupid. It wasn’t his business, nothing was really his. Afterward, he couldn't help but keep trying, and trying, although he wasn't fully aware of why he did that at the first place. Perhaps, just perhaps, Jinwoo would know. He knew a lot, but again, kept a lot to himself.

“What do you even know.” A statement. Jinwoo sat up, Minho followed. The anxiety in his silhouette was visually noticeable. Without any word, he turned back, pulled the younger into an awkward hug. His body trembled, the grip on Minho’s back tensed up. Suddenly, there was a loud buzz inside Minho’s head stopping his brain from functioning. His eyes were foggy, arms numbed, heart throbbed with pain. When he eventually found the courage to bring himself wrap his heavy arms around Jinwoo, the latter let go.

“Go to bed, Minho. It's late.”

He did, went to bed, watched Jinwoo making himself comfortable on the couch, and waited.

 

A new day was about to dawn, timidly, sleep had yet to visit Minho. He closed his eyes, nothing happened, the unsteady breath of the man sleeping on the couch irritated Minho much more than he thought. He wanted to swallow that breath, hover over that body, cool down his heat, make everything in his head stop spinning; as if he could.

He found himself sitting next to the couch, blankly observing Jinwoo. The thirst for him grew bigger, roughly out of his control. Jinwoo's unpleasant facial expressions somehow hesitated him. Whatever he was dreaming, it didn’t seem pretty. Pathetic, instead. A soft murmur escaped, followed by a long dreadful groan like an injured wolf, louder and louder. The anguish on his face was too horrifying to watch, Minho decided to break his own rules and grabbed Jinwoo's shoulders.

“Jinwoo! Wake up! Jinwoo, you need to wake up!” He shook the older perpetually until he stopped growling and opened his eyes. “Jinwoo!”

“Minho?” Even in the dark, he saw a sight of fear swept through Jinwoo’s face. His fingers quivered, carefully traced the younger’s nose. Minho tried to hold his breath, such a small gesture could scare him away.

A worn out smile appearing on Jinwoo's face made him want to cry. The room subsided, or the whole world. Minho gulped back his tears, trying to find his own voice.

“It's hot,” Jinwoo mumbled, breaking the intense quietude before Minho could gather his own thoughts.

“Lemme get the fan--” a tug on his sleeve froze him from standing up.

“No...” that sweet tone put him in a coma. He knew what Jinwoo wanted, but he was scared, jealous, pissed off, too much to handle.

A loud sigh, Minho climbed up on the couch and blew the sweat on Jinwoo's forehead. The latter nuzzled his chest, piercing another hole in his heart. Minho thought he was crying, his eyes were wet, or it was just his tongue, he couldn't tell. He felt a finger drawing invisible circles on his chest, Jinwoo’s breath warming his neck. A shiver went straight to his stomach, even in summer. Everything went too fast. He didn't know why he kissed Jinwoo. All he knew was how soft his lips were, softer than he had ever dreamed (and Jinwoo was a surprisingly good kisser). Sure, it was not a dream, but an uncertainty. On the other hand, the latter moaning into his mouth like a hungry kitten did not help much. Though his head was ready to explode at any time, he didn't mind if Jinwoo kept mewling. Though his heart was wrenched, he did not want the older to stop. He had to be addicted to Jinwoo, it was not something new, but he totally fell for that man.

Jinwoo ran fingers through the younger’s hair, stroking the back of his head. If he did not stop the friction anytime soon, Minho thought he might be burned alive.

“Why are you shaking, Minho?”

Minho tried very hard to speak but choked on his own sobs, couldn't even utter a word. It needed to stop before everything went down but he didn’t know how to do it. Or he did, but couldn’t bring himself. Jinwoo wrapped his arms around his nape (to block his escape), reconnected their lips. The heat of their kiss buried Minho in lust. His hands found their way into Jinwoo's shirt, his skin warm and comfortable. Jinwoo wriggled, waking up his deepest desire.

The night was finally over. In the daylight, Jinwoo looked even more tempting, body covered with sweat and hickeys, radiating like a blue star; Minho had to exert himself very hard to not hurt the man he loved. The scent of sex was everywhere in the air, thick and sticky, driving him crazy.

“Minho… Minho…”

The way Jinwoo called his name was extremely dangerous. He lost his patience, his thrusts got faster, harder, much faster. Jinwoo carelessly kissed the tip of his nose, and everything went white.

 

The very first thing Minho saw when opening his eyes was Jinwoo’s messy brown hair. They both magically moved to his twin bed where the older held him tight. All of a sudden, Jinwoo sleeping peacefully in his embrace became scary and overwhelming so much. What if his brain was playing with him? What if it was just a trick of his eyes? Desperately, he touched Jinwoo’s hair. It was silky. It was real; Minho planted a chaste kiss on top of his head and cried.

That took Jinwoo a few minutes to wake up and analyze the situation.

Meeting Jinwoo's worried eyes, Minho attempted to hide his tears. A soft hand cautiously wiped his face, a pair of soft lips touched his cheek.

“It’s okay,” Jinwoo's voice was soft, almost like nothing, “it’s okay, Minho.”

And Minho certainly knew it was not another hallucination.

 

Jinwoo twisted his body, stretching his back, swirling the placid air. Minho pulled the blanket to cover the latter's upper body, earned a (cute) whine from Jinwoo.

“What time is it?”

“Don't know, probably noon. You have to go?”

“Yeah. Just need to get back my phone-”

“Jinwoo...”

It felt like a lifetime had passed. Another kiss and Minho completely forgot everything on the tip of his tongue. He said nothing. Kisses poured all over his chest, he stayed still, unable to think. At least, Jinwoo didn't leave without a word like before, but Minho wished he just had done that instead of giving him some false hope. Saying he didn’t trust Jinwoo was not right, but it was a lie saying he believed everything he said. It was a complicated puzzle he didn't know how to solve. He didn't have patience or courage for that.

“I'll be back soon, promise,” another kiss was given, and he left.

It was the same as usual, Minho got out of bed, took a shower, looked for some leftover in the fridge, thinking about everything that had happened. His relationship with Jinwoo had changed for sure, better and worst. Should he pretend like last night didn't happened or just go ahead, be happy about it? And hell, he didn't even know if Jinwoo was really done with his boyfriend or not. Jinwoo didn't tell, Minho didn't ask, never wanted to ask. If not, then things would be even more complicated, as if nothing had been complicated enough since he knew Jinwoo. Either faked it or fucked it, he didn't really want to care. So he went to work, a typical night in the nightclub, getting drunk (to forget), pouring his desperation into music, kissing around and around, and missing Jinwoo.

Certainly, that was why he couldn't trust his eyes when Jinwoo entered the dance floor, stood there like a divine god in Greek mythology, shining brightly through the wretched darkness. It wasn't 3:30 yet, maybe he had a concussion, maybe not. The alcohol was playing evil, Jinwoo was perfect. A loose white t-shirt, distressed jeans. Casual, but he looked so fine, so much fine Minho couldn't fathom. His face got hotter, dripping in sweat (and tears, because Jinwoo was beyond beautiful) as the latter approached the DJ platform. He looked up with a doubtful gaze, as if his mind were working on a way to touch Minho without interrupting the younger; although, he didn't have to think for too long, because Minho had already dropped everything and run all the way through doors, staircase, people, staircase, more stairs, until he stood in front of Jinwoo, panting hard. Somebody called his name, but they were not Jinwoo who was smiling at him like he was his moon, he didn't turn back.

“Hey,” Minho swore, his voice was fucking delicious, “I'm back early--” he devoured it all.

 

The way home never felt that far. It was hard not to kiss Jinwoo when he was so close, desirable lips, hands on his thigh, delicate as a waltz, eyes exquisitely dazzling, out of the world. He wore an unreadable expression, the same one which could be found in those Renaissance paintings. So Minho was lovesick all over, brain shut down for a while, until Jinwoo tapped his thigh, dragged him off the bus, heading straight to his apartment.

“You're so fiiiine ~ I'm gonna make you mine ~” Minho dramatically sang, circling one arm around the latter's waist, while Jinwoo struggled with the door.

“How was it?” Minho pulled him closer, until their foreheads touched, awaited.

Jinwoo giggled, muttered some soundless things; although Minho was not sober enough to catch it, to him, it still a bliss. His eyelids became heavy, it had to have something to do with the alcohol, and so he dropped his head on Jinwoo’s shoulder, breathing in his ears.

“You’re a magician, aren’t you? Whenever I see you, everything disappears...”

“You're drunk,” Jinwoo looked like he was fighting back a grin, gave Minho a half-hearted punch to his chest, “so so drunk.”

Minho knew the older liked to tease him (“It's funny and healthy,” according to his precise words), he didn't mind it at all. As long as it made Jinwoo happy, he was willing to be fooled until the end of his life.

“Yeah,” Minho nodded, “drunk on you.”

Jinwoo parted his lips to say something but kissed him instead, and he kissed back because it was a must. He needed Jinwoo’s lips for a specific reason that even himself had not yet discovered.

It was slow, so much tongue, so much alcohol, it was just fine.

“Can I ask you something?” Minho asked during the kiss. Jinwoo was concentrating on the younger's lips, something between kissing and biting, too drunk from the hot breath of alcohol the latter gave him. Minho wanted to repeat the question, but kissing Jinwoo was more pleasing, his lips were worth a billion questions, he did not dare to give it up.

“Really want you,” wasn't what he wanted to ask but who cares.

Then the door opened and closed again. They shoved their hands into each other’s pants like some teenage boys, couldn't wait to discover the mysterious world. He nibbled Jinwoo's collarbone, hickeys overlapped hickeys.

The couch officially became their favorite sex place (it was close to the door). He whimpered, desperately clutch to the older’s shirt, or else he would drown. Jinwoo managed to push every needy moan out of him with each jab into his prostate, clothes never fully off their bodies. He pushed, and pushed, and pushed, and pushed, and pushed...

Jinwoo didn't leave that night, or the night after that night, or in a few months later. It could be considered as moving in if they wanted to think like that, half of his stuff was replaced with Jinwoo’s already, but they chose not to talk about it.

Kissing was much better, you know, and their little dates happened more often. From the amusement park to the art museum, a movie night to a steamy make-out session in the restroom of a cheap restaurant, they were purely happy with every single thing they could do. Sometimes, Jinwoo would come to the nightclub and wait for Minho. He only sat there, enjoying his drink, waving at the younger once in a while, and Minho could count more than fifteen people checking him out. He didn't mind people flirting with him, couldn't blame them for trying. Jinwoo was handsome, an actor, after all, it was hard to resist that beauty. Even if he minded, it wasn't his place to do anything about it, things were still a gray zone; but when people started to ask for Jinwoo's number, Minho made sure they got his instead, just so the next day, both of them could crack up when Minho's phone buzzed with a new tacky text.

Anyhow, people said Minho was much happier, Jinwoo agreed. There used to be reluctant sighs hiding behind every word he spoke when they joked around; he liked to make the latter happy, at least for a few minutes, before both of them lapsed into their own sorrow, or Minho thought so. Jinwoo said the bitterness in his eyes used to be careless, nearly audible, of course, Jinwoo noticed everything but always kept it for himself. That might be the only thing he didn't like about the older, but every time he told Jinwoo so, all he got back was a high-pitched laugh, and again, kisses. Minho could proudly say that he was a good kisser too. The proof was Jinwoo kept asking for it, and he happily kissed him more than 10 times a day without any complaint. It could either be a quick peck, or a French kiss which led to a totally new situation.

Minho knew he was falling for this man deeper and deeper every day, didn't even notice how fast time had passed until one day, he woke up, shivered with the cold, extremely cold. The edge of fall just opened the door.

“Oh hey, good afternoon. I bought food!” Jinwoo singsonged while taking off his topcoat. Minho noted his appearance, slightly different from his usual days, black shirt tucked in black jeans, leopard print scarf tied loosely, hair messily parted, extra appealing.

“Where have you been?”  

“The audition, told you yesterday.” Jinwoo finished changing clothes and quickly moved to bed, searching for Minho's lips. His skin was cold, felt like the wind. The kiss was quick and gentle, just enough to wake Minho, up and down. He tried to steal another one, but the older pushed him back.

“No,” Jinwoo laughed.

Minho pulled him down anyway, and he let him.

Another day with Jinwoo by his side, honestly, Minho had stopped counting, ever since the look in Jinwoo's eyes started to change, more heartfelt, full of adoration; Minho wasn't sure how a person's eyes could be full of something, but he believed Jinwoo had been looking at him like that. Although, deep down in his heart, there was something still pricking his mind. He wondered the meaning behind all of those morning kisses, long gaze exchanges, intimate touching, living together as if they were a couple.

Nothing. Or there was actually something floating in every breath he inhaled. Minho tried to avoid it. He was scared.

“Seriously, Minho,” Jinwoo curled up against his side, fingers squirming under his shirt, “you still sleeping?”

“Yup.” He played it off, feeling the worst. “Turn on the heat, hyung. It’s freezing.”

“Wait, I did.” Jinwoo got up to take a look at the heater. It was bought from a thrift shop together with the couch, always growled like a jet while running. And it had been too quiet he totally forgot about it. “Uh oh, it's broken again.”

Minho groaned at that. All he wanted to do was cuddling with Jinwoo, but the heater needed to get fixed, again. Perhaps, it was time to dump it and get a new one, by all means, it had to be brand new, he got sick of fixing that stupid junk over and over.

Out of the blue, Jinwoo jumped on him and stared, just stared, hair rumpled before his forehead. He was so close, smelled so good, a combination of clear skies and sweet fire, almost killed Minho. His eyes were, again, full of adoration, eliciting another kiss from him.

In those moments, Minho wished Jinwoo could have been his, only his.

 

Seunghoon came back at the least expected moment. One normal night in the night club, Minho was drunk enough to drag Jinwoo to a corner, eagerly claiming his lips, marking his neck, so no man out there could hit on him, and someone abruptly yanked him back. He turned around, ready for a fight, but almost immediately jumped into Seunghoon's embrace when he recognized the face he could never forget. They used to stick together like macaroni and cheese, hanging out, breaking rules, doing stupid things; people didn’t call them Dumb and Dumber for no reason. The last time he saw Seunghoon was the afternoon before his flight to Thailand. He still had that dandy look, always kept up with fashion, still free and easy.

They talked and talked, catching up on the time they had missed, mostly about people back in college.

Taehyun, a weird but talented kid, one of Minho’s most favorite people (after his family members and Jinwoo), had got married after his girlfriend got knocked up unintentionally. Hanbin and Bobby, a powerful match, Seunghoon and Minho’s rivals, were training under a famous entertainment company, hopefully, would debut soon. Junhwae, still confused, enlisted in the army last month. And Jinhwan, and Chaerin, and so on… It was kinda odd Seunghoon knew all those things considering he didn't live in Korea.

“Yo, I have eyes everywhere.” Maybe it was true, no wonder how he found Minho's workplace. But Jinwoo was still waiting for a specific name.

“Seungyoon changed his mind though. Now he's a detective. Met him once, always busy.” Seunghoon looked straight into Jinwoo's eyes. “He asked about you, hyung.”

Jinwoo didn't say anything, but he listened, carefully, knowingly. Seungyoon was Jinwoo's soulmate. Everyone knew it. They had been friends since birth, and he knew everything about Jinwoo, Seungyoon had claimed so; but when Jinwoo'd introduced his boyfriend, they'd had a big fight. Minho recalled the day he'd seen Seungyoon smashed Jinwoo’s phone to stop him from calling his boyfriend, the two had shouted at each other as if they were enemies. Eventually, Jinwoo'd moved out; when he'd come back to apologize, Seungyoon had left Seoul. They cut all contact and hadn't seen one another ever since.

“Now tell me, did this kid cry when you two banged?”

“Jesus! How did you know?” Jinwoo’s eyes wide opened while Minho choked on his drink.

“Told ya, I’m Mr. Know-Ever-Lee-thing.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny,” Minho scoffed at Seunghoon's lame joke.

Seunghoon somehow managed to mention Seungyoon two more times during the conversation, and Jinwoo couldn't hold back any longer, he excused himself, went to the restroom, probably crying.

Obviously.

It made Minho envy Seungyoon, a lot, for the special bond he shared with Jinwoo, the way his name could easily evoke Jinwoo's tears.

“Yeah, those two keep on denying, deadass sure they dated way back then,” Seunghoon voice suddenly changed, somewhat lower, “but honestly, I'm kinda surprised you two end up together. Spill, did you finally ask him out?”

Minho was lost for words. A lie might not hurt, but his tongue was stiff.

“It's... complicated, man. We just--”

“You know his ex went to jail, right?”

“His what?” Minho heard himself yelling.

“His ex. He went to jail. Selling drugs.”

_So it confirmed, they had broken up._

“You poor thing,” Seunghoon leaned back against the bar, smirked with a patronizing expression. “Jinwoo seems fine to me but-- I mean he's not what he looks like, okay?”

“What you mean, bro?” Minho asked, offended, more confused than ever. 

“Listen, I care about you. No need to believe but this is what I know,” he snorted, and Minho felt like it would be something he shouldn’t know, a secret, a mud, “apparently their relationship was going down, so Jinwoo snitched on him, kicked him to jail.” 

A mud.

“In short, be cautious.”

 

Minho watched his dick disappearing inside Jinwoo when he rolled his hips. The pace was slow, unintentionally slow, but he wanted more, much more than that. He gave some quick, shallow thrusts, let the latter have his time. Jinwoo touched himself to distract the pain and arched his back, pushing hips a little higher, used his free hand to spread his butt cheeks apart. The sight was too obscene Minho felt his dick twitched angrily. It was painfully tight, it was good.

“Slow it down--” Jinwoo hissed when the younger pushed a little too hard. “--we're not rabbits.” 

Minho acted like he didn't hear anything, his attention was utterly turned to the heat wrapping around his dick, and fuck, it was hot as hell, blowing away the cold on his bare skin. He leaned down, planted a chaste kiss on the back of Jinwoo’s neck, tilted his head to connect their lips, clumsily as if they never kissed, just a second before snapping his hips again, skin slapping skin, bottoming up. Jinwoo gasped in the kiss, strangled moans quickly filled the air. It was too deep, Minho had to count stars to steady his breath and almost lost it when Jinwoo jingled his butt, trying to adjust him. 

The room was dark, oppressed much, the roaring noise from the broken heater grated on his nerves. Jinwoo's hole clenched around him, squeezing tight. He slowly pulled out until the head, then pushed back in, buried deep. Jinwoo grunted, whimpered, panted, cursing Minho’s existence and moaning his name desperately at once. Minho wondered if he had the same reaction when his ex had done that.

He hoped not.  

“Minho, hold up... need more lube…” Jinwoo sounded like crying, “it’s harder without a condom-- ah fuck!”

Minho pulled the latter back in a flash so he was sitting in his lap, pressed back against his chest, and God, it went even deeper. He bit the crook between his neck and shoulder, licking the salty skin, hands roaming over his torso, hips bucking up in a rough pace. Jinwoo trembled, pleading the younger to gentle a bit. His words were all jumbled up, didn't even make sense. Minho ignored it and went on, body sweating furiously, mouth dry as a land of drought. Still not enough, never enough. He pinned Jinwoo down the mattress again, slamming into his hole ruthlessly. They got so high, higher than he had ever been. Not really wanting to get down, he kept going, only harder. It was too much for Jinwoo, his body lost control, shaking violently as he crawled away, trying to escape; but Minho held him firmly by his waist, nails dug into his skin, had him gone through all the stages of pleasure, harshly. Minho knew Jinwoo liked it, even when he cried out in pain, he liked it, begging Minho to stop, he liked it, he liked it. He was just being sensitive.

When Minho drew back, his cum dripped out of Jinwoo's hole, along with blood.

 

“You'll be alright,” Seunghoon pulled Minho into a fixed hug, like the first time he sent him off. They patted each other's back, but quickly turned into hitting, and slapping, and punching, then broke apart and laughed like two idiots while whining at the pain.

“Take care, hyung.” Seunghoon winked at Jinwoo, about to hug him but Minho got in the way, throwing his bag at him. 

“Go now dumbass, your plane is leaving.”

Seunghoon chuckled with the same patronizing expression in the nightclub, Minho tensed up, afraid of the next thing the latter would expose; but he only picked up his stuff and waved. 

“Bpai la na, son. We'll meet again.”

They wouldn't. But life was life. Seunghoon went back to Thailand, Minho drove Jinwoo back to their apartment. 

It hadn't been so intense for a very long time. The other night, Jinwoo had cried a lot, never had he seen the older cried that much, and nightmares had come back to his sleep, pathetic and ugly. Minho wasn't sure what had gotten into his own head, shouldn't point the finger at Seunghoon, or anyone else, or anything; he really didn’t know. 

Jinwoo shifted his body. Despite that it had stopped bleeding, sitting still caused him a lot of irritation. 

“Still hurt?” Minho mumbled, palm on the latter's thigh, wishing, hoping, longing. “I'm sorry.”

Jinwoo kept his silence, something he always good at. Minho risked a squeeze, tried to reassure, to apologize, at least say something, but nothing came out. Every word was getting meaningless and faltered, and he thought he would deserve him. Jinwoo's hand drifted, put on top of his as if to push him away. He didn't, though, left it there instead. 

“Don't do that again.” _It hurts._

All Minho could do was a nod, feeling his stomach crumpled.

 

Jinwoo was cast, a small role, important enough to keep him busy in the next two months. Two days after Seunghoon leaving, Minho woke up with the older sitting on his stomach, showering him with kisses all over his face.

“Rise and shine, my boy!” Jinwoo literally screamed into his ears. “I'll buy you a new heater!” 

Minho busted out laughing and flipped their positions, hovering over him.

“I know you can make it!” Minho pecked his lips at every word, fingers brushing his earlobe. “Congrats, hyung.”

 

And winter arrived, as expected. Minho zipped up Jinwoo’s coat, made sure he felt warm and cozy, although, the cold didn't really bother him. Jinwoo recently dyed his hair blond for the role, and oh, it was such sunlight in cold winter days, cost him roughly his life.

“Cheesy.” Jinwoo nudged him.

“What?”

“What you just said.”

Minho realized he was unconsciously stroking the older’s hair, like he said, bright and soft, like whispers and morning rains.

“Stop that.”

“Was I thinking out loud again?” He didn’t mean to ask, just looked for an excuse, and seemed satisfied when Jinwoo nodded.

“Oh no, somebody kiss me and stop it.”

Jinwoo kicked him, couldn't hide the laugh on the tip of his tongue. Minho's joke was terrible, but Jinwoo kissed him anyway. 

They walked along the sidewalk, side by side, shoulders slightly touched, hands hiding in their own pockets. Minho peeked around and around, waiting for a chance. No one bothered looking at them, traffic was slow, the dampness in the air really vexed him. He grabbed Jinwoo’s hand and put it in his pocket, inwardly smiling, holding the whole universe.

Strangely, his hand was painfully squeezed causing him to steal a glance at Jinwoo. Most of his face hid behind the black scarf, cheeks blushed because of the cold, hand still held tight on his. Without warning, Jinwoo tugged him into a dark narrow alley.

 

Their lips crashed, tongues shoved down each other's throat, spit mingled, hands glided up and down, hungry, thirsty. Minho tilted his head, pressed their bodies closer, squeezing out the air between them. A millimeter could be too far. He heard his belt clanking, his pants and underwear pulled down to thighs. Jinwoo went down as well.

He knew what would happen, had it pictured in his head million times before, but when it actually happened, he got scared.

So what if Jinwoo wasn't an angel at all? What if he would turn his back on him one day? So what? Jinwoo was still Jinwoo, the one who had tormented his weak heart for years, the one waking him up every morning (sometimes afternoon) with his high-pitched laugh, hugging and touching him all day, all night because well, he was clingy like that (Minho liked it, though), the one on his knees, in the midst of a dirty alley, eyes closed, swollen lips wrapped around the tip, sucking out all his vitality to the last drop. That was when Minho realized how fucked up he was. He fell so hard for him, probably and possibly, there was no way for him to get up.

“Say,” he was terrible at timing, “would you like to go out with me?”

Jinwoo tiptoed, breathed a _yes_ against his lips. It tasted like cum, but Minho didn’t mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoy the first part, it wasn't proofread so please let me know if you find something weird. The second one might take longer since I changed the plot, so yeah, thank you for reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> My first time posting here and I got a little confused. The prologue is short but no, the story will be much longer, I promise. And yeah, Jinwoo is mysterious and complicated, hope you'll enjoy it. Thank you for reading!!


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